


Baby One More Time

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Armor Kink, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Coming Untouched, Consensual Kink, Dom Tony, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Erotic Flogging, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Kink Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, Hand Jobs, Impact Play, Kink, Kissing, M/M, Masochism, Mention of switching, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pain Kink, Praise Kink, Sadomasochism, Sexual Content, Slight Cock & Ball Torture, Slight Feminization Kink, Slight humiliation kink, Spanking, Sub Steve, Sub Steve Rogers, Submission, Subspace, Top Tony, Top Tony Stark, Wrist Cuffs, clothed dom naked sub, erotic spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “And your color now?” Tony said.  He was moving around behind him, Steve thought, and then told himself to lay off. He didn’t need to analyze Tony’s every movement; this wasn’t a mission.  He didn’t need to be Commander Rogers right now, wasn’t that the whole point?Well, maybe he needed Tony’s help with that.  Maybe that was the whole point.“Green,” he breathed out into the covers over the bed.Written for Day Eleven of Kinktober: Sadism/Masochism.





	Baby One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve mentioned Steve having a masochistic side in bed in a lot of my fics up until this point. Well, this is the one where Steve really, really wants to be hurt in bed.
> 
> Set post-Siege (and post-Civil War) in a universe where Tony and Steve were together before Civil War and sort of neglected to officially break up during and then got back together during Avengers Prime. Steve is Commander Rogers; Tony has the Bleeding Edge armor.
> 
> “…hit me, baby, one more time.”  
> ― Britney Spears

“How’s that?” Tony’s fingers were warm on the back of his neck, tracing gently along Steve’s skin, and Steve shivered.  “Give them a pull for me, okay?”

Steve tugged obediently on the cuffs around his wrists, holding his arms up, bound to the posts at the foot of the bed, where he knelt there on the floor.  There was just enough give to bend his arms or to pull, so he could rest his head and shoulders on the end of the bed, if he needed to from where he knelt on the floor with a spare couch cushion under his knees.

“Come on, baby, I meant pull, not give them a little tug,” Tony murmured.  He stepped up behind Steve, laid his hands over his wrists, sliding them down his forearms, and Steve shivered all over again at the warmth of Tony’s body behind him, the way it bled into him through his naked skin. “Better you bust something now than have it happen once we get started and you forget yourself a little, right?”

“But,” Steve started. He didn’t want to break Tony’s bed. He’d done enough damage to Tony’s things already in the course of the various ins and outs of their sexual relationship.  But he guessed Tony had a point, so this time he torqued his shoulder, set his knees, and pulled on his arm as hard as he could without pushing himself over the top with adrenaline.

The bed moved, groaning as it skidded along the floor, but nothing snapped or broke or dented.

“Hah!” Tony said, and then his hand came to brace itself against the bed above Steve’s, suddenly covered in the gauntlet of the armor, and he helped Steve as he, feeling a little sheepish, gave a heave with his muscles, pushing the bed back into place. Steve twisted his head, looked around and back at him, to see Tony wearing the armored gauntlet on one hand, both armored boots on his feet, going up to his knees.  “Hiya,” Tony said, with a lopsided smile, and gave him a little wave, waggling the fingers of the gauntleted hand.

Oh, right, Steve thought, feeling silly.  The Bleeding Edge armor.  It was still strange to see Tony do that, almost surreal.  He still smiled back at him, instinctively; it was just too damn endearing not to.  Tony was too damn endearing not to.

“So,” Tony said, taking a step forward.  The fingers of his other hand came up, ran gently along the side of Steve’s jaw, warm and human, and Steve shivered again, felt himself press into them, even as Tony laid the gauntleted hand on top of his head, weighty and solid, stroking the heavy metal-coated fingers through his hair, and Steve felt a frisson of pure, hot, lightning adrenaline, even want, shoot down his spine, at the pure thrill of the danger of it, feeling the edge of the repulsor heavy against his scalp. Tony ran his fingers back and forth along Steve’s jaw, a gentle touch, before he turned Steve’s face forward, holding him there with his warm human fingers at his jaw, warm, slightly sweaty, palm at his throat.  “That’ll probably do the trick.  Just try not to put the bed through the wall, and it’s all good.”

“I won’t put the bed through the damn wall,” Steve muttered, feeling his face heat.

“If you do, Commander,” Tony said, “I’ll remind you that you said that.”  He leaned down, Steve could feel it, and pressed a soft kiss into the hair at the top of Steve’s head, sliding his gauntleted hand to the side to make room, and Steve felt himself go warm for a totally different reason, ducked his head down, feeling that affection twist, almost overwhelming, in his chest, in his stomach, too hot and too tight.  Tony was so sweet, and he—he—

“Shh,” Tony murmured, tracing his callused fingers down over Steve’s Adam’s apple, over the pulse in his throat, the soft sensitive vulnerable place just above Steve’s collarbone. “I’ve got you now, right?”  He stroked the backs of the armor’s fingers along Steve’s cheek, letting the cool metal warm against his skin, stroked it down and gripped Steve’s shoulder, squeezing gently, like a massage, the metal hard and unforgiving enough to make Steve shiver all the way down his spine. Tony squeezed Steve’s throat, just enough for him to feel it when he swallowed, and his voice dropped artificially when he spoke again, down into a lower, chest, register, “I have you now, my pretty, bwahahaha.  Or something like that.  That’s how they do it, right?  Zemo totally said that to you, at least once, I just know it.”

Steve couldn’t help chuckling at that, even though he recognized the tightness in Tony’s body language, the nervous joking—he was anxious about this after all, sure enough. He turned his head to the side, stroked his cheek along Tony’s bare arm, since he couldn’t do it with his bound hands, pressed kisses down along the skin, over Tony’s wrist, until Tony opened his hand, and Steve could press his lips in a kiss to the heel of it, to the pulse at the inside of his wrist.  Tony sighed, softly, stroked Steve’s lips with his fingers, and Steve tilted his head back, smiled up at him.  “Maybe add something about Adhesive X in there,” he said.

“Honey, I’m offended,” Tony said.  “I am _way_ too cool for Adhesive X.”

“Well, that’s true,” Steve said, and turned his head, kissed the inside of Tony’s arm.  “You’re going to do fine,” he murmured.  “I’ll be fine.  I can’t wait.”

Tony blew his breath out, stroked his gauntleted hand through Steve’s hair again, stroked the metal fingers down to his jaw, traced one over Steve’s lips, making him shiver all over again, a hot frisson going through him as the firm metal traced over his sensitive skin.  “I know,” he said, “I know.  It’s just …”

“I know,” Steve said, turning his head to murmur against the soft inside of Tony’s elbow, “I really do know. But I want it, and you’ll do fine. Don’t be nervous, sweetheart.  You won’t hurt me.”

“You see right through me,” Tony said, a choked little laugh in his voice.  “I know, I know, Steve, honey.  You trust me. But I—maybe—I mean—”

“Maybe I shouldn’t?” Steve asked, and twisted around so he could raise his eyebrows as he looked at Tony. “Well, I do, Stark.  So deal with it.”  He leaned his head back against Tony’s chest, and Tony let out a breath, moved to drape his arms over Steve’s shoulders.  It made him feel—warm, safe.  Held.  It was nice. Steve closed his eyes.  “You’re going to hurt me so good,” he murmured. “Please, Tony.  Give it to me.  Give it to me hard.”  He looked up at him through his eyelashes after that, and yeah, he knew it was manipulative, but it always worked on Tony, and Tony did it to him all the time, so he was looking, and he saw Tony bite his lip, heard his choked back moan.

“God, Steve,” he murmured, and his fingers ghosted softly over Steve’s face again.  “What you do to me.” 

“As long as you do it to _me,”_ Steve told him, smiling a little.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, Rogers,” Tony told him, and grabbed his jaw more firmly in his non-gauntleted hand.  “Maybe I should see if I can’t shut that saucy mouth for you, huh?”

“You should,” Steve informed him.  “Definitely.”

“Naughty,” Tony said. “Naughty boy.  I’ll have to give you something else to focus on, rather than sassing me.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and oh, God, his voice came out all breathy.  “Are you going to do that, or just stand here and talk about it?  Because I’m waiting for it, Stark.  Been waiting for it.”

“I hear you,” Tony muttered, and then he was doing it, pressing Steve down into the bed, gauntleted hand on the back of his neck, and Steve was shivering, stomach knotting and unknotting with sweet, adrenaline-driven heat, because oh, God, that was Tony’s _repulsor_ at the back of his neck.

Tony gave him just a moment to revel in it, the wrenching, thrilling vulnerability of it, the danger, the helplessness, and then his hand was moving away, leaving Steve there, naked and bent over the bed in a position that exposed his back, his shoulders, his buttocks.  Steve bit his lip, feeling that wrench of exposed, almost humiliating thrill in his stomach again, fought the urge to push his rear out, asking for it.  If Tony wanted it, wanted him to expose himself, he would tell him.

Tony’s boot prodded the meat of Steve’s rear, and he sucked in his breath, felt his cock jerk almost painfully between his legs, already so hard that every caressing breath of air that whispered over it felt like pleasure (that was the _boot_ , of Tony’s _armor_ ).  He could feel himself leaking precome, knew if he looked down he’d already be wet and sticky, and they hadn’t even really started yet.  “Aren’t you eager,” Tony said, and his voice was a little breathless. “Just leaking all over the place, aren’t you sugar?”

Steve nodded, and it came off jerky, tight.  He panted into the bed.  His whole body felt warm and cold at the same time, as if in anticipation.

Tony’s hand was next, the gauntleted one, running all over his back, from Steve’s shoulders down over his spine, the dip of it, over his buttocks, then back up, until he was trembling at the feel of the metal, the heavy drag, the slight graze of the ridges and edges that drew a shivery sensation, not quite pain, over his skin. “You like this so much,” he said, and his voice was knowing, now, more confident.  Just the way Steve liked to hear him, sure of himself, like that. Not that he didn’t like him all the time, not that he didn’t like him sweet, or vulnerable, or shaking apart for him, he was beautiful, beautiful and sweet and the most precious thing Steve had ever touched, it felt like, or curled exhausted in his arms, but he hated the shadow of self-hatred that sometimes flicked over his face, hated that it was there, living inside him, and there was something about Tony self-confident and in charge, that—

“You know I do,” he whispered into the bed. 

“Yeah, I know,” Tony said, and his fingers, warm skin and calluses, feathered along Steve’s shoulders. “So, just one more thing for me, sugar. Bend your arms, let me see how much movement you’ve got.”

Steve did, rolling his shoulders, letting Tony see.  He had plenty of motion, and his arms were able to bend just fine, but Tony was always so careful, careful enough to make Steve feel warm, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, warm with how much Tony cared for him, took care of him.

“Okay, looking good, champ,” Tony said.  “Red, yellow, green, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly.

“And your color now?” Tony said.  He was moving around behind him, Steve thought, and then told himself to lay off. He didn’t need to analyze Tony’s every movement; this wasn’t a mission.  He didn’t need to be Commander Rogers right now, wasn’t that the whole point?

Well, maybe he needed Tony’s help with that.  Maybe that was the whole point.

“Green,” he breathed out into the covers over the bed.

“All right, then,” Tony said.  His hand came back, slid up over the back of Steve’s neck.  “How about you relax a little bit for me, big boy?” 

Steve sighed, tried to obey. Had he gotten tense?  He hadn’t meant to.  He was just so—he felt so—

“Shh,” Tony murmured, and then it was easier to relax, all at once.  Steve sighed, let his neck go loose, his head sink into the bed. “That’s it,” Tony breathed. “That’s it, just like that. That’s a good boy.”  His fingers curled in, short nails scratching gently along the back of Steve’s neck.

That sent a dark, sweet curl of pleasure down to Steve’s gut, and he breathed out, reveling in it, the almost too-sharp, almost humiliating pleasure.

“And here we go,” Tony muttered, petting one hand through Steve’s hair, just for a moment, and Steve wasn’t quite certain if he’d been supposed to hear that or not, so he just lay there and tried to keep himself breathing evenly rather than tensing up again in the eager anticipation coiling through him.

“Now, spread your legs,” Tony said from behind him, his hand falling to Steve’s shoulder.  “Let me get a look at that juicy peach of an ass you’ve got.”  Steve felt himself flush, dark and self-conscious, could feel the flush creeping down his back ( _juicy_ , he thought, _God_ , Tony), but he obeyed, spread his legs and rocked his rear end up and out so that Tony could get a good look at it.  “Isn’t that nice,” Tony purred, and then his hand came down on the meat of Steve’s rear in a nice hard smack that made Steve jolt, surprised, especially at the force behind it, even from Tony’s non-gauntleted hand.  It didn’t really _hurt_ , not in the way Steve was hoping he would by the end of this, but it definitely stung, and that ricocheted through him, bounced around hot in his belly and sung straight to his cock.  He groaned, rocked his hips, couldn’t help himself, the anticipation of it probably making his cock leak even more; he could feel it swing, jerk, hot and heavy between his legs.  “Beautiful,” Tony said, and the approval settled warm in Steve’s belly, too, made his ears burn, made him settle down just that little bit more into it.  “You look so beautiful with something turning your ass red,” Tony continued.

Steve moaned at that, couldn’t help it.  He was just—so hoping—

“I know, I know,” Tony said. “I know how much you want it, believe me.”

Steve couldn’t help the urge to push his rear back at that, push it up, hoping Tony could still see the fading pink mark where he’d swatted at him, hoping it didn’t make him look too easy, too eager, but at the same time hoping against hope that it _did_ , and Tony would make him hear about it.

“Oh, honey, begging for it already?” Tony said in that purring tone of his Steve loved so much, almost _pitying_ , and Steve felt the humiliation curl through him beautifully, like a tug on his cock as he felt himself flush bright red, all the way down over the back of his neck. He gasped against the covers. God, he was already so turned on; how was he going to last?  “I’m going to start off real easy,” Tony said, then.  “I know, I know, you like it hard, you want to jump right into the main event, but hold your horses, sweetcheeks.  I’m going to work you up slow.  I’m going to make you _beg_.”

 _Please_ , Steve thought, _oh, Tony, please, please_ , but Tony wanted to _make_ him beg, not hear Steve fall all over himself to do it, so he kept his mouth shut.  He knew the begging, pleading words would be falling out of his mouth despite himself later on, but he’d hold them off for as long as he could.  “Sorry,” he said, instead, and it came out of him hoarse and low, “sorry, sir,” and then he bit his lip because that term had just spilled out of him, the way it always seemed to when he was like this, and that had to mean he was slipping into subspace, the soft warmth in his face and the dizzy buzzing in his head spoke to that, too, but he hadn’t even realized he was heading there yet.

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Tony said, and there was a grin in his voice when he said it.  “I like seeing you desperate.  Just letting you know how it’s going to be.  You can shake your pretty ass at me if you want to, just know that it won’t speed me up any.”  His hand came down, then, squeezed at the rounded curve of the skin, fingertips digging in, and Steve caught his breath on a moan, felt himself flush all over, when he realized it was the gauntlet.

In the next moment, he felt Tony’s warmth all around him again, and Tony’s other hand trailed down Steve’s chest, sliding between him and the bed and coaxing him up a little, while the other stroked slowly, metal and smooth and not quite warm, up over his back.  Tony rubbed his thumb up and down between Steve’s pectorals, then Steve could feel his warm breath on his ear as he whispered, “I’m going to put some jewelry on you, okay, gorgeous?  And you’re going to wear them, all pretty, just for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Steve nodded, tilted his head back so he could see Tony’s face, and grinning, just because.  Tony smiled back, a sweet, crooked smirk, and then he was grabbing Steve’s chin in his hand and kissing him breathless, pushing his tongue into Steve’s mouth.

When he finished with him Steve was gasping, his head spinning, and his mouth felt hot, tender and wet and newly sensitized.  Tony grazed his lower lip with one finger, then moved to straddle him; Steve could feel, _hear_ , the thunk of the armor’s boot against the floor, the warmth of Tony’s legs against his back, as Tony pulled him back against him again, making him arch his back to push his shoulders back against him the way Tony’s hands on both of his shoulders demanded, and then Tony was sliding his thumb, his forefinger into Steve’s mouth, pushing in and sliding over his tongue, fucking back and forth, then pulled them out, leaving Steve, surprised, gasping around them, drooling.

In another moment, those wet fingers were down on Steve’s chest, pinching at his nipple, which Steve only realized the second Tony’s fingers closed around it was already flushed and hot and hard, standing up on his chest with arousal.  He gasped as shivering, hot arousal, a searing bolt of pleasure, went through him, straight to his cock.  “God, that always makes you leak,” Tony murmured in his ear.  “You’re getting your gorgeous thighs all wet with it.”

Steve flushed, heard a pathetic groan come out of his mouth, then snapped his mouth shut, but it was probably less embarrassing than trying to talk would have been, since he had no idea what he would have said.  He wondered if his thighs were really getting wet from his cock (he couldn’t quite tell), and felt a frisson of bright, hot, humiliated pleasure rush down to the base of his spine at the thought, even as Tony’s wet fingers kept playing with his nipple, making it tingle and ache.  The other one felt hot and prickling, too, as if in sympathy, even without Tony’s fingers on it.  

“Just my thumb on your needy little nipple makes you moan,” Tony said softly, and hell if he wasn’t right, because just then he circled his thumb around it, slid it up against the hard little peak, and Steve gave a soft little moan he couldn’t hold back.  Tony pressed a series of soft, wet kisses up and down Steve’s neck, twisting gently at his nipple now, and Steve felt like he could feel his heart throbbing in the hard little nub, the sensitive skin under Tony’s fingers.  He’d come before, just from Tony playing with his nipples, teasing with his fingers, pinching and tugging and then soothing little strokes with the pads of them, making Steve’s nipples throb and ache, sore and bruised and hot and tight, until Steve was ready to pop even before Tony started sucking on them, biting, laving with his tongue.  His dick remembered that, too, aching, hot and needing between his legs as Tony stroked his nipple with his fingers, and Steve tried to resist the urge to lift his thigh, push it forward just enough so that he could twist in his back, try to rub his dick down against it.  He wanted to be good.

Tony didn’t seem to be taking it that far, though.  As soon as Steve’s nipple was aching, throbbing for sensation, needy for more, and Steve realized, belatedly, that he was pressing himself forward, into Tony’s fingers as they bit into the solid muscle there, the hard flesh and the soft areola, panting, Tony moved his fingers away.  This time he licked his own thumb and forefinger, Steve heard the wet sound, before he brought his fingers down and started teasing at the other one. The now neglected nipple ached, perked up and hard and needy, and every twist of sensation to the other seemed to tease that one, too, like a ghost of sensation, a memory of what it had just experienced, how desperate Steve was to feel that again. 

He was lost, moaning and pushing his chest forward, panting as Tony ran his thumb up and down against his pectoral, around the areola, massaging him deeply even as he tugged at the throbbing little nub with his fingers.  He whimpered helplessly when Tony gave his pec one last squeeze and then pulled his hand away. 

“You have such pretty tits,” Tony whispered in his ear, and Steve felt himself flush, turn his head away in embarrassment.  “Don’t be embarrassed, babe, it’s true,” Tony said.  “I know, I know, you miss me.  Well,” his nail circled one of Steve’s areolas, and he stiffened, flinched with want. “I’ve got something pretty for you to wear.”

He brought his other hand up and there was a jingle of chain, and Steve barely had a moment to focus on the nipple clamps before there was a slight tug on his bottom lip, and he felt the bite of metal and teeth sink into the soft skin.  He flinched, moaned, and felt more saliva spill wet out of his mouth, over the cool metal, over his lip, at the pain of it.

“Like it?” Tony asked breathlessly in his ear, and then it was releasing and Steve was moaning, mouth open and wet, and the same hot bright pain squeezed tight around his nipple, tugging, and Steve found himself squeezing his eyes shut at the same time, shaking his head helplessly, because it was such a little hurt, hot and fanged and toothy where he was so sensitive and throbbing, and because of that it was hard to bear, tiny and stinging and strangely pervasive, prickling under his skin all over, rolling in a wave of sensation down to his cock.  The other one clamped over his other needy, throbbing peak a second later, and Steve let out a sobbing noise before he realized it, thrusting his cock forward uselessly, jerking his hips.  “There’s my good needy boy,” Tony purred in his ear, and there was a chain between them, cool against Steve’s skin, Tony’s hands sliding down his chest, giving it a short sharp little tug that made Steve ache and moan, more saliva drooling out of his mouth even as he tried to keep himself quiet, tried not to hump his hips forward or roll them quite as desperately and abjectly failed.

He realized, belatedly, that Tony was toying with another chain, one that trailed down Steve’s belly, and he was still gasping and groaning, mouth sloppy and open and God, what he must look like, when Tony tugged it down, sending another burst of sweet stinging agony through Steve’s nipples, and then another tight burst of pain went through him as tight little teeth and clamping pressure sank into him right at the fullest part of his scrotum, jerking all the way through Steve’s already high, tight balls.  He cried out, heard himself, high-pitched and breaking and barely like him at all, felt himself sweating, jerking, but was aware of nothing but the desperate, throbbing, blissfully painful sensation for a moment before he came back to himself, mouth wet against the bed, and Tony’s arms both around his middle, one stroking his stomach.

“I think you almost came just from that,” Tony said, consideringly, and a teasing fingertip flicked against the tip of Steve’s cock.  Sensation arced through him, too hot and bright to be either pain or pleasure, and Steve heard himself whine, panting, like an animal, from what felt like a long way away.  “Now look down at yourself, big boy, see how they look on you.”

Steve felt himself flushing again, but he obeyed, to see the clamps tugging on the skin of his chest, around his nipples, the way the chain disappeared down under his cock to clamp onto his ball sac.  Each of them had a little round, black, shiny weight on it, pulling them down, and they were harsh, alligator-style clamps—no wonder it had hurt.

“Looks good, right?” Tony said, and his thumbnail traced a circle behind Steve’s ear, before he pressed a kiss there.  Steve just huffed out a breath, overcome, unable to speak.  “Good boy,” Tony said anyway, and then he was pushing him forward again despite the way Steve was already slumped over, until his nipples rubbed against the bed, and Steve jerked, and that pulled on the clamp on his scrotum, and he was left whimpering and trembling all over again as Tony pulled away.  He ran his warm hand down over Steve’s sweaty back and said, “I think you’re just about ready, tough guy.”

The words were a warning, and so Steve knew what was coming next, but he was still, somehow, surprised, when he felt cool leather tails trailing over the skin of his behind, up the small of his back to slide over his shoulders.  They felt soft, light.  Tony really hadn’t been kidding about starting him off easy; it felt like a doeskin flogger, like the ones Steve used on Tony.  Wide tails that practically shimmered over Steve’s (God, already) damp skin, a thick profusion of tails, Steve was pretty sure this was the thickest deerskin one either of them owned.  Tony had gotten it for him as a tease, knowing how much Steve liked heavier play, much heavier play than a doeskin flogger, no matter how heavy, but they’d never played with it, because—well.  Because things had happened.

Steve found himself turning his head, pressing it into the soft tails (they were white, lovely, it was a gorgeous toy, a lot like the smaller, lighter one he’d gotten commissioned for Tony what felt like a long time ago), feeling the thin, light leather against his face, inhaling the scent of it.  It smelled clean, like leather polish, and he found himself wondering where Tony had had all these toys hidden away.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tony said, fond amusement in his tone, and he dragged the tails soft over Steve’s face for a moment before he brought it away.  “Remember this one?  I know; it’s soft and easy.  It’s going to drive you nuts, but like I said, starting slow.”

“Whatever you want, Tony,” Steve managed to mumble.

“Yeah?” Tony said. “That’s sweet of you, pumpkin.” He dragged the soft tails down, over Steve’s back again, making him shiver and jostle the clamps, sending tight stinging pain through him again and making him shiver and shake for an entirely different reason, down over his rear, and then, very very gently, flicked the soft tails up against his balls, where Steve was clamped, and it wasn’t like it hurt, not at all, just a soft caress of leather, but it surprised him, and Steve flinched and the clamp pulled and then he was gasping, moaning, writhing against the bed, on his knees, and rocking on his elbows.  “You are the most beautiful thing, the most beautiful person, I’ve ever seen,” Tony said, all breathless sincerity, and while Steve was still trying to process that, to digest it, while it was still making him feel lightheaded and dizzy and totally disconnected from anything beneath him, kind of like flying in Tony’s arms felt, he heard the whoosh of Tony’s arm going back, and the first fall of the tails landed on his behind.

The soft doeskin was sensual, light, with a sensual softness that teased over Steve’s skin, and he still flinched, so wound up even the lightest caress would have felt intense, and the clamps tugged at his nipples and scrotum again, and he whined into the bed.

“Relax, honey,” came Tony’s voice, and Steve tried to relax, dragged in a deep breath, blew it out, let himself lean on the bed and tried not to jar his already burning, aching nipples.

Tony started with his rear, soft and easy, just like he’d said, then moved up to his shoulders. The leather was so easy and sensual, and it really didn’t hurt, thudded a little with weight, pushed Steve down into the bed so he rubbed his nipples against it and ended up gasping, but not a lot of pain, just the barest touch to enliven the sensuous weight.  Steve thought it felt like warm vanilla ice cream tasted, even if that didn’t make sense, blanketing his skin with sensation. His skin felt warm, then hot, tingling all over, by the time Tony stopped.

“See,” Tony breathed, “wasn’t that nice?”  His fingers came up, traced over Steve’s sensitive, warmed buttocks, and Steve gasped, flinched under the touch, not because it particularly hurt, but because he was much, much more sensitive in his skin than he’d realized, every inch of him burning with a kind of hot, brilliant, prickling glow.  Tony smoothed his hand over both buttocks, slow and sensual, and purred, “See, a pretty pink peach, just like I said,” and Steve flushed, hot all over, feeling the blush burn hot and throbbing under his sensitized skin almost like sunburn.  Tony hummed, said, “God, your skin is warm,” and then he was tracing his hand up over Steve’s back, to rub at his shoulders, and Steve whimpered as sensation shuddered through him, bucking and twitching under Tony despite himself.  Every time it tugged on his nipples and balls, and by the time Tony was done just standing there and caressing him, there was precome sliding down Steve’s thighs, he could feel it now, and he was a drooling, moaning mess against the bed.

“That’s beautiful,” Tony said softly, tracing his fingers down the vertebra of Steve’s spine so that he shivered with each one.  “Look at you, sunshine.  You’re practically glowing.”  And before Steve could even say anything, even think about it, even think about anything else, he stepped back, and there was more cool leather trailing soft over Steve’s hot, tingling shoulders.

This one felt soft, too, on his hot skin, but Steve knew immediately it was a lot heavier, that it wouldn’t feel soft like the last one had at all once Tony got going, and felt a throbbing surge of want shoot up his cock.  This one was dark leather, and Steve thought he recognized it, the dark leather and the mahogany red-brown braiding around the handle.  Buffalo leather, he thought.  That was one of their heavier ones.  All thud and no sting, practically, but heavy as hell. That, that would feel good.  Finally.  The warm-up Tony had given him had been lovely, beautiful, had left him feeling warm and soft and wanting all over, but Steve was here for something harder, and they both knew it.  What Tony had given him so far wasn’t enough to put him as far out of himself as he wanted to be.  He turned his head, nuzzled his face into the tails of the flogger again in gratitude, and Tony stepped forward, stroked his head, through his hair, with his gauntleted hand, before he held the leather wrapped handle to Steve’s lips.  Steve kissed it immediately, soft and lingering, trying to communicate to Tony how grateful he was that he would ever do this for him, and Tony sighed, sucked in a low, trembling breath, metal fingers sifting softly through his hair.  “God, you’re so good,” he murmured, then, “Let me give you want you want, then, cupcake,” and when he took a step back it felt like Steve’s whole body lit up in anticipation.

The first blow was perfect, against Steve’s shoulder this time, thuddy and deep, rocking him forward against the bed with just the pure weight of it.  His clamped nipples dragged against the bedspread, catching and tugging at his skin despite the way he’d gone mostly numb, and it was enough to have him shuddering, wondering if Tony flogging him would get him worked up enough to shoot just like this already, and wondering what it would feel like to come with that tight pressure clamped just under his balls.  Then Tony hit him again, on his other shoulder, and Steve released a shuddering breath, feeling it all through him, at the pure adrenaline that shot through him at the thud, rubbed his face against the covers and rocked back into it, moaning.  Before he knew it, the word had slipped out of his mouth, hoarse and rough and low. “Please.”

“Oh, sweetheart, there it is,” Tony said.  “Of course, babydoll.  Whatever you want.”  Another blow across Steve’s shoulders, another, another, until he was all deep, aching, beautiful sensation that felt like it went down to his bones, and he was rolling his hips forward, rocking on his knees, with every thrust, eager now to feel the pull of the clamped chain because of the way it tugged on him, gave him some sensation on his throbbing balls, not much but almost as good as a touch on his cock.  And Tony just kept at it.

Steve had always been a masochist.  He hadn’t always known that that was what you called it when you liked to ride the edge of a little pain with your pleasure, but even when he’d been jerking off as a young man, before the serum, he’d used to dig his nails into his thigh to help him come (as if heaving his gasps out of a chest tight and heavy with asthma and the tripping, too-fast rhythm of his heart wasn’t enough, because, well, it hadn’t been—that wasn’t the kind of pain that did it for him).  He didn’t need it to get off, far from it.  Some days the last thing he wanted was pain, of any kind, just wanted the warmth of his partner and pleasure and a soft hand on the back of his neck or through his hair as he came.  But pain, it, it worked for him.  It really did.  And after the serum, the edge he liked to his pleasure, well.  Steve wasn’t sure if his desires had become more intense, or if his body could just take more, but either way, the aching want to be worked over and left throbbing and moaning and _hurting_ so good hadn’t gone away, only increased, despite his newly sensitive nerve endings.

He hadn’t been sure how that was going to work out with Tony at first, because it didn’t take long with the man before you figured out he wasn’t half the sadist Sharon was in bed, and that had been fine with Steve, because Tony was Tony, and he’d have wanted to be with him if Tony never wanted to have sex at all.  The sex didn’t matter.  It was _nice_ , it was incredible, in fact, but it didn’t _matter_.

But while Tony might not have been the hardest player Steve had ever been with, that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of it, as Steve had discovered.  It wasn’t just that Tony was generous to a fault—though there was that, too, and it worried Steve, sometimes, that Tony would probably do something he didn’t like at all, just to please Steve, just because Steve wanted it, and what if Steve didn’t realize, not in time?  But this—he’d seen the way Tony’s eyes dilated when they talked about it, saw his flushes.  He wasn’t as into the causing Steve pain part, for its own sake, but still, he got off on it, on having Steve like this.  He got off on giving Steve that sensation, Steve thought, seeing that Steve liked it. Pleasing him.  Putting him through the floor.   _Being there_ for him.  Taking care of him.  Hurting him so good, because Steve wanted it, and because Tony loved him, and that was—

It made it so good. Tony was one of the sweetest tops when it came to pain play that Steve had ever played with (hell, one of the sweetest in general, when it came right down to it), but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

And the man had an _arm_ on him.  That was Steve’s favorite part.  Just about everyone he’d been with in his life had been strong, athletic, fit, but Tony—Tony was stronger than he looked, had to be, bearing the weight of the armor all the time, even though Steve knew it was calibrated to take most of it off him when it was on.  But he was very intimately acquainted with Tony’s muscular structure now, and Tony was _incredibly_ strong.  He worked, Steve thought with deep, blurry, dizzy satisfaction, as another blow to his shoulders thudded on top of the previous ones and sent the impact shuddering through his entire body, a tenderness that went deep, with his hands, and you could tell.

The tails slid away from his shoulders, then, and Steve felt them slither down over his back, down between the two globes of his rear, between them in a crease that felt damp and sweaty, down the insides of his thighs, and he moaned, and said, “Please, sir,” and Tony laughed, soft and gentle, not mocking.

“Oh, baby,” he said, just that, low, understanding.  The next blow came on the upper part of Steve’s buttocks, and he gasped, jerked forward against the bed, pulling on his clamped painful tits again as he did it (Tony’s word for them, for his sensitive, heaving chest muscles), because it was so heavy and burned so good against the sensitized skin.

Tony didn’t let him down, though.  In between the hard, heavy thuds to Steve’s rear, he got the wide backs of Steve’s thighs, too.  They felt battered, hot and bruised and alive, even more sensitive than his rear end, by the time Tony let his arm fall.  Steve could hear his deep, heaving breaths in the room, from where Tony stood behind him, and knew Tony had put a lot of his own strength into that.  Tony wasn’t quite panting, not yet, but it took him a moment to catch his breath.

Steve was drifting, floating on the deep ache, the jarring shudders that had brought his whole body to life with a tender awareness that would be soreness later, but it still startled him, surprised him, when Tony spoke again and he was right behind him, because he’d thought he was still a few steps back.  Tony’s warm, open palm came up, touched gently against Steve’s hot, burning shoulder, and Steve moaned, open-mouthed and grateful for the way the slight added pressure made him all the more aware of the way it throbbed deep down, not exactly pain.  He stroked along his shoulders, and Steve shuddered in blissful discomfort under him.

“Left those clamps on you probably a little longer than I should have,” Tony said, sounding rueful, “but damn, honey, you took that like a champ, you looked so beautiful, and I just couldn’t bring myself to stop when you were loving it so much.”

“Mmm,” Steve heard himself say, and his voice sounded just as blissful as he felt.  He couldn’t care about that—the clamps had left his nipples aching numbly, his ball sac in much the same state, and he’d liked the extra drag, the extra weight.  With his body, Tony couldn’t imagine leaving them on a little too long was a real big deal, could he?  But then, Tony was always conscientious, always careful, as if Steve wasn’t built for it.

He felt Tony go down on one knee behind him, straddling him again (heard the hydraulic hiss of the armor, felt the thump of the weight as Tony rocked down), and then Tony was pressing up against him, sweaty through his slacks and business suit and smelling strongly of his beautiful cologne, something like soft smooth suede leather and something like flowers and somehow clean and soft and bright enough it reminded Steve of the sleek smooth shining finish of Tony’s new armor.  Steve moaned, rocked himself up enough that he could let his head thump back onto Tony’s shoulder, ignoring the shuddering sensation that shot through his sensitized shoulders at the impact, and saw Tony’s smile obliquely, sideways, as Tony leaned in to press a kiss to his temple, his hands sliding down to press Steve’s hips back, until his rear was up against Tony’s groin, and he could feel his hard on, hot and hard and pressing between Steve’s bare cheeks even with Tony’s slacks still on, and the way it sent hot, fiery prickles of sensation dancing over every inch of Steve’s buttocks and thighs.  “Oh,” Steve moaned, and Tony kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured. “You’re so good, stud.  Look at you like this.  Pretty as a picture.  So damn good at taking it.”

Steve moaned, pleasure shooting through him warm at that, curling in his belly, thumping in his gut, into his groin.  He pressed his face closer to Tony, and Tony kissed him again, laid wet, sucking kisses down the side of his neck.

“All right, tiger,” he said, and his hands slid up over Steve’s shuddering abs.  “Now for the fun part, right?”  His thumbs slid, gently, along the bottom curve of Steve’s pectorals, slid up and teased just under his nipples, circled the areolas with the nails. Steve moaned again, panting as anticipation curled tight in his belly.  This was going to hurt, he knew it would.  He couldn’t wait.  His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms, against the bedspread.

Tony teased him a moment more, just to throw him off balance, Steve figured, until his breath was rasping in his throat with the ache of anticipation, and then Tony’s fingers teased in and pulled off first one clamp, then the other.

Steve had never, ever been loud in bed, had been used to jerking off quietly, one hand in his mouth to muffle any noises he made so nothing leaked through the tenement’s thin walls, a long time before he’d ever gone off to war and ended up in a barracks full of other soldiers.  The sound he gave through his clenched teeth was dragged out of him by nothing but sensation, pure anguished ecstasy, because he couldn’t move to shake it out of him, not cuffed down and held against Tony’s beloved body, against the bed, couldn’t do anything but _take_ it as it ripped through his body, hot and tight and beautiful, and the sound of it, a gritty roar, agonized and shockingly loud, ringing in his ears surprised the hell out of him.  His nipples ached as sensation came back, except that wasn’t a strong enough word to describe it, throbbed, except that saying they throbbed was like calling Thor’s hammer a taser.  The pain licked through Steve’s body, caressed him, turned him inside out, and he barely realized he had his forehead down against the bed, his hands gripping big handfuls of the bedspread, panting and moaning as he shook with sensation, and then Tony was tugging off the one at his scrotum, and the hot bright pain bloomed through the skin where it had been clamped, and Tony dug his _nail_ in after it, squeezed a hand at Steve’s balls, dragged his palm up over Steve’s cock, pressing a single gauntleted finger against Steve’s aching, throbbing nipple at the same time, and Steve gave another hoarse, groaning yell he was barely aware of, and came.

Tony stroked him through it, murmuring to him the whole time, something that sounded like encouragement, his warm hand a sweet pleasure against the throbbing, constant pain in his nipples, at his balls, that Tony kept moving back down to tease with his thumb. Steve realized he was rubbing his burning nipples desperately against the bedspread, not sure if he was trying to ease the pain or heighten it, and Tony let him, until Steve sagged against the bed, moaning with the cessation of his orgasm, and Tony’s hand stopped on his cock, just cupped him, gently.  He pulled Steve down a bit, against him, until Steve’s weight was resting against his feet, on his deeply throbbing rear, and Steve sucked in his breath.

“Beautiful,” Tony whispered in his ear.  “You’re so beautiful, sunshine.”  Fingers traveled up over his heaving belly, wet with Steve’s own come, and then those same wet fingers were circling his painful, stinging nipple, and Steve was groaning, overcome, as his cock pulsed one more painful time at that.  He sagged back against Tony’s body, breathless and still twitching with pain all over from his sensitive nipples and the sore ache that was blooming hot all through the underside of his sac, with pleasure from his orgasm.  Tony kissed his neck, told him he was sweet and pretty and so, so perfect, and Steve shuddered again with pleasure of a different sort, even as Tony’s clever fingers continued to tease both his aching nipples.

Steve couldn’t have said what he liked so much about the pain.  It felt good, too—his nipples were an easy center of pleasure for him, eager and wanting, and every painful circle of Tony’s fingers, every tug that sent bright agony to arc through Steve’s chest, had an undercurrent of pleasure to it. But that wasn’t the whole reason. It got Steve’s adrenaline pumping, got him feeling hot and sweaty and wet and needy all over, made him feel bright and light and dizzy and floating from the inside out, made his nerves buzz as if with pleasure as if some sort of wire had been crossed, thickened up his cock and made him ache to rub it against something until he came.  It didn’t happen in the field, not like that, some punk’s fist in his face was still just some punk’s fist in his face, it didn’t get him hard, get him off, prime him like this for pleasure.  So he didn’t know.  He just knew it took him apart, that even as Tony’s fingers teased wrenching pain from his poor, abused nipples and massaged his skin, his muscles around them, until he was panting both from relief and tenderness and his cock hurt with how fast it was thickening up again, he felt better, more loose, more relaxed, more beautifully helpless than he had in weeks, no, months, his face tucked in against Tony’s neck, against the no-longer crisp outline of his collar (loose, the top few buttons undone, no tie, such a sexy look on him, just a little unbuttoned, in his shirtsleeves), inhaling the smell of Tony’s cologne.

Tony teased him until his nipples were bright hot stars of pain and confused, throbbing pleasure, and his cock was so hard and so painful between his legs, throbbing with overheated need, that Steve sobbed once and whispered, “Please, Tony.”

“What, sweetie?” Tony asked, purring in his ear.  “Oh, you’re hard again, aren’t you, look at that.  Bet that hurts.”

Steve nodded, unsteady on his neck, and Tony left off pinching at his nipples, started to just massage them, gently.  He sighed, squirmed over Tony, aching at his rear, his thighs, his shoulders, his cock, and now at his nipples, in a beautiful tender way that was just on the verge of pleasure but wasn’t, that hurt.

“Everything hurts, though, doesn’t it?” Tony murmured fondly.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, and smiled.  “Kinda.” It wasn’t actually that bad, just a sort of burn, all through him.  He could take that.  Tony hadn’t pushed him all that hard yet, though it had made his mind beautifully sweet and lazy and slow, thick and sticky like the molasses his ma had kept in a jar in the cabinet and had to rest on the radiator for a while to get it to flow.

“Kinda,” Tony said, a smile in his voice.  “Okay, stallion.”  He pushed Steve over again, face down onto the bed, between his hands, open now and lax, when had that happened?  His nipples scratched against the bedspread, and Steve sighed, arching his back and rubbing against them idly.  The stinging slap to his sore rear was a surprise that had him jerking up, crying out, especially as Tony rubbed it in, massaging it into the deep, tender ache of his backside.  “Hope you’re ready for more,” Tony said, “since you’re such a tough guy,” but it was warm and fond and Steve knew Tony had planned to take him higher all along. The idea that he’d earned more pain with his behavior, though, had him writhing and whimpering, caught between shame and the heat of it in his cock.  Tony kissed the back of his neck, stroked it gently with his fingers, then straightened up, left Steve kneeling there alone again, shivering with the cool air over his hot, desperate skin.

Tony slapped his rear again with his open hand, a few times, making Steve cry out each time, but then he stepped back.

“This is really going to hurt, babe,” he said.  “So. Color?”

“Green,” Steve moaned. There was saliva slipping out of his lips again, his mouth hanging open against the covers.  “Green, Tony, please.  Please, please, hit me.  I want it so much.”

“Okay,” Tony said, and then there was one more second as he swung, and sensation exploded through Steve as the blow knocked him forward enough he swayed on his knees.  He immediately knew that Tony was using one of the heaviest toys they had, bullhide, heavy leather, lots of tails, thin tails so there was plenty of sting, dancing over Steve’s skin, bright with hot pain, not the deeper, lower register of before, but bright and hot and fast that left him gasping, panting for breath.  Steve had gotten Tony to use it on him before, but only rarely, and he moaned in both pain and satisfied ecstasy as another blow thudded onto his shoulders.  Every one of them pushed his sore nipples up and over the bed, and Steve just—just writhed, gasped and moaned and begged and pleaded, the words falling easily from his mouth now, and lost himself.

Tony worked him over. His shoulders, his behind, his thighs, again and again, up and back, until every point he was touching was a stinging, burning, throbbing mass of pain that felt like it was radiating off Steve’s skin with the heat, burning into the air.  When Tony finally set it down, Steve could barely catch his breath, his body twisting, chest heaving, and then Tony’s hand came down _hard_ on Steve’s burning rear and with the force of it, the unforgiving weight and hardness, Steve realized he’d spanked him with the gauntleted hand, and gave an open-mouthed sob of gratitude into the bedspread.  Tony dragged the thumb of the gauntlet down over Steve’s burning rear, a bright hot landscape of pain, and said, “God, I’ll never get over how much you get off on it, my beautiful needy mess, aren’t you?  Look at you all wet for me, princess,” and Steve shuddered and came again, barely even aware he was doing it until the pleasure was careening around inside him, his cock jerking without even a touch this time, and he was rolling his face, his cheek, desperately against the blankets, moaning.

“Jesus,” Tony breathed, walking the fingertips of the gauntlet up Steve’s heaving, sweaty back, before he brushed it gently over the bright agonizing pain of his shoulders, and Steve shuddered and sobbed and another aching round of come jerked, pulsing, out of his cock, somehow.  They stayed there like that for a moment, and then Tony squeezed his shoulder, against the agony, making Steve sob wetly again into the blankets, and said, “You’re pretty up right now, so I think this is right, but if it’s wrong, holler at me, sweetheart.”  He pushed himself up again, and Steve was left gasping and too caught up in sensation to wonder what Tony was doing, rocking himself helplessly against the bed, his wet cock still hard and thumping against his stomach.

Then there was a bright, hot sting of pain, furious, even more intense than the heavy flogger Tony had just been using, and Steve _yelled_ in agonized gratitude, because oh God, oh God, oh _God_ , that was the—the nasty, knotted, thin-tailed flogger, the pink and black one that was essentially a cat, the one that Steve had bought because he was dreaming, a fantasy, not something he’d ever, ever thought Tony would actually use on him.  The pain was all-consuming, intense, everything Steve had ever dreamed it would be, and before three blows had thudded into his shoulders Steve was just—gone, drifting on it, higher than high, moaning and rolling his hips and panting into the covers.  It felt like agony.  It felt like the most intense pleasure he had ever felt in his life.  He couldn’t have said what it felt like.  It was incredible.

Steve was giving sobbing, hitching little breaths against the blankets, and his cock felt sore and hot and _hard_ , _again_ , without even a hand, his arms flexing against the bed like that was going to help, and every time it sent white-hot pain sweeping through his back, and it went straight to his cock, and everything in his head was heat and light and fury and release, and when Tony stopped, all he could feel was the screaming tight sting of the pain sweeping through him, through his hot sensitive skin, maybe fire, and maybe ice, burning him, taking out of himself all over again, for a long, long time, like Tony hadn’t stopped at all. And then Tony was kneeling there beside him, and his warm hand, strong, so strong, but warm, human, not metal, was against the sweat-slick small of Steve’s back, and he tilted Steve’s head up with a gauntleted thumb against his chin and kissed him, sucking the slick wet spit off his bottom lip, pushing his tongue against it, then into his mouth. “Listen, sweetheart,” he murmured against the corner of Steve’s wet mouth, “my dearest, are you okay?  Do you need to stop?  What’s your color, big boy?”

“Green,” Steve sobbed. “Green, please, Tony, please. Sir.  Please, green.”  Whatever Tony wanted to do to him next, he wanted it, needed it, needed more of it.

“Okay, sunshine,” Tony said, and maybe his voice sounded just a little unsteady, but Steve was barely thinking, couldn’t track on it.  “You’re so good, Steve, my good boy.  My best boy.”  Steve moaned in pleasure, and Tony’s hand came up, stroking through his hair.  He gripped it, then, not exactly pulling, but forcing Steve’s head to loll against the blankets, kissed his hot shoulder where the bright pain over the skin made it feel like it was crackling with electric heat.  “You’re doing so well,” Tony told him, and Steve smiled, floated on it, even as Tony’s hand came down hard on his behind, so hard the smack echoed through the room, and jolted, moaned, his knees almost giving out so that he wobbled.

Tony propped him up, caressing his chest with his gauntleted hand and making Steve shake and choke on his own wet breaths, even as he smacked him again, right on top of the last one, and Steve cried out, moaned, shuddered like he was going to shake apart. Then another, and another, and then on his other cheek, again, and again, and then, horribly, beautifully, wonderfully, hard against his sore, throbbing thighs, and then the pain started to feel—burning, hot, deep, achingly good, like pleasure, and Steve was pushing his rear up, into Tony’s hand, desperate for more.

He wasn’t sure how long it went on, just that his cock was dripping by the time they were finished and he was panting like he’d forgotten how to breathe, and he knew what that felt like, and that Tony’s hand was glowing warm with the heat of smacking him when it came back and pushed up Steve’s head again, turning him for another kiss.  Steve sobbed, breathed, whined, sniffled into Tony’s mouth, and Tony pushed breath and tongue into him and drank down his wet, needy sobs, and then he caressed Steve’s face, his cheek, along his jaw, gently, easing his head back, and said, “Want to do something for me, sport?”

The need was intense, immediate, all consuming.  “Yes, please, Tony,” Steve panted, raw and wrecked.  “Please, please, anything, sir, please.”

“Sweetheart,” Tony said, gently, and shifted around him, a little.  One of Steve’s arms came free, but he just lay there, pliantly, docile, waiting for Tony to tell him what he wanted.  Jeez, though, his arm was sore, the muscles burning.  Tony had done that to him, too, he thought happily.

Tony coaxed him up, then, on his knees, and at his direction Steve shuffled over, let Tony turn him until he was facing Tony, on his knees, before he cuffed him to the bedpost again, this time the magnetized cuffs locking together, his wrists held tight against each other and to the bedpost.  “Okay, sweetheart,” Tony said, then, sweet and soft and gentle, and smiled at him.  Tony’s own face looked hot, sweaty, Steve thought, vaguely.  His thoughts all felt very disconnected, but he liked how sweet and soft that smile was on Tony’s face.  It was … nice.  “How about you suck me off?  How’s that?”

“Yes,” Steve said, eagerly. He wanted that, very much.  That would be perfect.  “Please, yes, please, Tony.”  He watched Tony with a floating kind of anticipation, mouth feeling wet and swollen and tingling, and opened his mouth as soon as he saw Tony undo his belt and his flies and push his trousers down around his thighs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony said, in perfect, affectionate gentleness, his voice rough and hoarse, and his face looked sweet and soft and a little bit twisted up with feeling, but Steve thought in his muzzy state that it wasn’t one of the faces Tony made when it was a _bad_ feeling (it was soft, open, Tony would have been trying to hide it if he felt bad), so he just leaned forward and let his mouth close around Tony’s cock as he fed between his lips.

Tony was an expert at giving head, beautiful, perfect, every time, his mouth like a miracle whenever it got around Steve’s dick, every time so perfect and ecstatic that sometimes Steve wondered if he were going to be ruined now for blowjobs from anyone else. Steve … wasn’t that good.  He had a frustratingly strong gag reflex, and he never seemed to know quite what to do with his tongue, but he loved sucking Tony off anyway, because it was beautifully easy to make Tony come from blowjobs, a lot more than it was any other way, and Steve loved that.  Tony seemed to love blowjobs, and sometimes it kind of—ached, deep in Steve’s chest, how Tony seemed shocked, still, a lot of the time, when Steve wanted to give him one.  As if Tony, Tony who adored giving head, who could come just from Steve’s cock in his mouth, who said giving oral sex was his _favorite thing_ , couldn’t believe that Steve wanted to do the same for him, like Steve was somehow _above_ reciprocating the act for his best guy.  So having Tony just ask him, just like that, and guide his cock into Steve’s mouth without hesitation, put his hand on Steve’s head, on the back of his neck, and just hold him there while he rocked his hips into Steve’s mouth and made him choke and drool all over it, gagging on every inward thrust, was _amazing_ , and if Steve hadn’t been bound to the bed he’d have had his hand on his own throbbing cock, jerking himself off while Tony used his mouth, but the fact that he couldn’t somehow made it even _better_.

Steve was lightheaded from a serious lack of air, since he couldn’t seem to remember to breathe in through his nose from one moment to the next, when Tony sighed, gave a low, hitching groan, and came in his mouth with a breathy gasp of, “Steve.”  Steve felt warmth spread all over him, from the top of his head to his toes, and moaned around Tony’s twitching length, shut his eyes and did his best to swallow him down.  There was still come leaking out of his mouth, over his chin, when Tony sighed and pulled his soft cock out of his mouth, and Steve felt his throat spasm one more time, his chest heave, and a wet noise tumble out of him, but then Tony was kneeling down, leaning into him, kissing the come out of his mouth, sucking it off his wet chin and swallowing it himself, and Steve whimpered at the pure erotic heat of it, slamming deep into his gut.

“Now, you’re hard again,” Tony murmured against Steve’s wet lips, so sensitive and swollen that they felt like they were throbbing in time with his back and furiously painful buttocks, the deep burn that hurt so deeply, so beautifully, all over his rear end and down into his legs.  “You beautiful, wanton piece of work, you. I don’t want to leave you hard and leaking, pumpkin, so just tell me if you want to come, and we’ll make it happen.”

“Yes,” Steve said, almost sobbed, even though his cock hurt, throbbing, the tip so sensitive it hurt just to think about it.  “Oh, Tony, please, c-can I?”  The words came out of him in stuttering, helpless gasps.

“Oh, sure, sport,” Tony drawled, easy and loose and so upper-class it made Steve’s spine tingle, and then his hand was on Steve’s cock, stroking him loose and easy just how Steve needed it, and Steve whined with gratitude, panting in heavy, heaving, open-mouthed gasps into Tony’s shoulder, arms still bound above his head, as Tony stroked him off, and when he came, it was so—bright, so perfect and warm and heavenly, that everything went away for a while except the pleasure and the smell, the warmth, the presence of Tony beside him.

He was floating somewhere else, far away, a very good place he’d have liked to spend some more time in, loose and easy and happy and everything feeling _right_ , and he was only vaguely aware his wrists being released, the screaming pain as his arms fell to his sides, of arms encased in smooth, brilliant metal around his waist, being bodily lifted by a shape in gleaming red and gold to lie on his side in the bed, supine and gasping.  When he opened his eyes again, Tony was sitting next to him, hand on his shoulder, in just his shirt and his sweet silky bikini-cut undies, all traces of the armor gone except the gleaming blue light in his chest, one hand on Steve’s neck, holding him gently, thumb rubbing back and forth so soft, callus just a little rough, against his pulse.

When Steve blinked, overwhelmed tears trickled out of his eyes, got caught in his lashes, but that did not at all change the smile that curved his lips as he beamed up at Tony—no, made it even better.  He felt so happy.  Everything felt so good. His brain was buzzing and light, and he couldn’t think of a single responsibility, a single thing he had to do, a single thing he had to be, except here, with Tony, right now, hurting so beautifully.  “Oh, Shellhead,” he breathed.

“Was it … all right?” Tony said, and, incredibly, because he was Tony goddamned Stark and he never seemed to think he’d done all right for Steve, he sounded uncertain, a little like he’d done something wrong and wasn’t sure how Steve was going to take it.

Steve wanted to reassure him, needed to, but he—he just couldn’t, he was soft and loose and lax and sweet and there was nothing at all in his head except Tony and sensation and good things.  “I’m so _happy_ ,” was all he could manage to slur out, but it was enough, because it put the light back in Tony’s face, made him smile down at him, so sweetly, so loving, lean in with his hand on Steve’s sweaty cheek.

“Sweetheart,” Tony murmured, and his voice was thick, his face all twisted up like it got when he was really emotional.  “Sweetheart.  I’m so glad I could do this for you.”

“Kiss me,” Steve whispered, muscles throbbing, back a brilliant agony, his body so high on pain and heat and pleasure he felt like he’d never come down, and Tony, right there, had done it to him, all of it, had given everything he’d wanted.  He felt so loose, so relaxed, so good, like nothing bad had ever happened in his entire life.  “Oh, Tony, please.”

And Tony did.


End file.
